Brooklyn at 3 AM
by Wordwielder
Summary: Tony and Steve talk about their friends, their memories, their losses, and their triumphs over the great peacemaker: alcohol. Rated T because Tony Stark has a mouth. Nothing vulgar. Staright-up bromance, no slash at all.
1. Chapter 1

**Okay, I do not ship Stony, like at all. I think Fanfiction needs a little more bromance between these two, especially since they're my favorites. Enjoy :)**

Tony picked Steve as his drinking buddy because, hello, he can't get wasted. Tony tested that out, trying to disprove it, like, twenty times. What finally convinced him was when Cap drank four bottles of straight whiskey in two hours and woke up the next day in time for his seven A.M run without as much as a headache.

"Get me some of that serum," Tony grumbled. "I thought I had good tolerance."

Steve's fast metabolism means Tony can drink as much as he wants without having to deprive anyone a good time because they're his designated driver. Of course, they've had issues. But Tony has found alcohol a great peacemaker, and they kicked Loki's ass together, so that's something. They drink the first round quietly, before they start to make small talk and eventually meander into an actual conversation. Tony sees the tension ease off Captain's shoulders as they debate over whether Natasha or Clint would win in a fight.

"She can seriously kick ass," Tony says, almost wistfully.

Steve nods. "I know, I've seen it."

"But he does have arrow skills…poor guy, probably is still crying into his pillow whenever he sees Katniss."

Steve looks confused.

"It's this thing called the Hunger Games, it's like….you know what, I'll buy you the books. I can't explain that. And then you can watch the movie."

"I'm still working on Harry Potter," Steve says.  
"That is a worthwhile endeavor," Tony says, nodding in approval. "Read the books first, gramps. After we get you through those, we'll catch you up on Twilight—no, I'll let the girls handle that. Worst movie ever, I swear. My mother collected like every 'classic' movie from the forties until she died so feel free. That stuff will be more your speed."

"What was your mom like?" Steve asks. "I never thought your dad would get married."

"Very beautiful. Of course she had to be to produce this," Tony smirks, gesturing to himself. "She liked movies and books and my dad, most of the time. She was really bright, which is I guess why my dad married her. He liked pretty faces but he needed substance."

"Your dad was a great guy," Steve says.

Tony blinks. "Everyone tells me that." He shrugs. "I don't remember him that way."

Steve grins almost boyishly. "You remind me a lot of him, actually. Brilliant, of course. Very charismatic, especially with dames. Like someone else I know." He shot Tony a sideways look. "I wish I could have seen him again…" Steve sips his beer. "Well, it'd be nice to see any of the guys again. Or Peggy."

His voice changes on the word and Tony raises an eyebrow. "I've heard that name before. Peggy Carter?"

Steve nods.

"My dad knew her. I think she might have visited when I was young."

"We all served together in '42," Steve explains. He smiles into his pint and utters a short laugh. "Actually, I didn't like Howard at first because I thought he and Peggy were an item."

Tony snickers. "_Item?"_

"Dating," Steve amends. "I was dazzled by her. I never could tell what she was thinking. Anyway, your dad explained to me what fondue actually was and we got on pretty well after that."

"He talked about you," Tony tells him, gesturing at the bar tender to refill his scotch. "When he got in the right mood, he talked about what a hero you were in the war. Every now and then, he'd go pouring over the maps, certain he could find where you crashed. He freaked if anyone dared disturb him while he was at it. You were his one point of sentimentality. Kind of like Coulson, but I sure as hell hope he never watched you sleep, because that would ruin my childhood a little more."

Steve laughs, trying not to think about the pain behind Tony's flippancy.

"So, Peggy," Tony prompts. "What happened there? You ever get the guts to make your move?"

Steve blinks.

"Did you ask her out?" Tony tries.

"Did I ask her to be my girl? Sort of…our relationship was always a little different, I think. She shot at me once after I made her angry."

Tony doubles over, laughing. "She shot out at you? That girl must have had spunk."

"That was the first time the shield saved my life," Steve says fondly. "Your dad designed it."

"Dear God, what did you do to incite her wrath?"

"Erm…" Steve blushes. "There was some girl who, um…I wasn't trying to do anything, I swear, but it looked suspicious…"

"By any chance was this girl young and beautiful and all over you?"

Steve nods.

"Bingo. Women don't change through the ages."

Steve shakes his head. "Trust me, they have." He shrugs. "I can't decide if it's better or not. They're so…_forward._"

Tony cocks his head. "You are one strange guy, Captain. You don't like the girls hitting on you?"

"Well, considering in high school I went on all of two dates, you'd think I would. I grew up in a world where women got married at eighteen to the love of their lives. Dating is terrifying, Tony."

He sounds so earnest, Tony really tries not to laugh. But he can only repress it so long.

"You sound fifteen, dude!"

He shrugs. "I'm not the genius, billionaire, playboy philanthropist here with all the experience. I practically am fifteen."

Tony leans back in his chair. "I have got you, dude. Pick any girl in here. I mean any girl. I can get that girl in your bed tonight."

"Tony, you're going to laugh at me," Steve sighed. "But that's not what I want from a girl. I'm, erm, I…" He blushes.

"Oh my God," Tony realizes, his jaw dropping. "You're a virgin?! How can you look like that and be a virgin? I don't even care how flamboyantly homosexual that sounds, I'm in such shock! You're a _virgin_?" He smirks. "Do we need to throw you in a volcano now?"

Steve glares. "Okay, I grew up in the time where everyone waited until marriage and it's not like it's on my priority list now."

Tony shakes his head. "You, my friend, have not lived. I take the playboy part of my title seriously. Well, I did, before Pepper tied me down. I mean, seriously. How are you a virgin? Natasha almost jumped you when she saw you shirtless. Hell, Pepper almost jumped you and she gets the Stark treatment. No males talked to you for a week!"

Steve grins. "Did you really just call it 'the Stark treatment?'"

"Don't sidestep, Mother Teresa."

"I got that reference!" Steve cries, delighted.

Tony rolls his eyes. "Congratulations, my spangled friend." He sips his scotch. "So, you and Peggy never…?"

Steve smiles in a way that tugs even Anthony Stark's heartstrings. It's sad, and sweet, and nostalgic. "One kiss. Best kiss of my life, of course. She really was incredible, Tony."

"Yeah?" Tony pauses. "Why?"

Steve begins with how she really looked at him from the beginning. Her bravery. Her beauty. Her spirit. How somehow, she was in love with him too.

"She's still alive," Steve finishes. "She got married in '55. Now that Loki's subdued, I think I'm going to fly to England. Go see if Peggy remembers me. I don't really know what it'll change but I feel like I have to. We had a date, you know." He glances up. "And every Saturday night at eight I think about it."

Tony shakes his head. "I feel for you, man. I mean, you're stuck in the past and can't enjoy what 2012 can offer."

Steve half-nods. "I think you're underestimating the forties. Kids played baseball in the streets. It cost a dime to go to a picture show and get an ice cream after. I went to church every Sunday from the week I was born to the week I left for basic training. Things were simpler. I'm not," he explains, "saying that the present isn't good in some ways. It's just too fast for me to absorb so quickly. People are more violent and move like there's no time. There's so much technology, and people rely on it too much. And damn, why do they think they can get away with charging eleven dollars to see a picture?"

Stark laughed. "You ever want to see a picture, I got you. Stark Tower has a movie room. And the bowling alley is almost ready too."

Steve beamed. "I love bowling."

Tony claps his back. "See, not everything changes." He leans back. "But about deflowering you. That is happening, okay? We're gonna find you a hot chick."

Steve groans.

"You know why you're so annoying?" Tony says, mildly drunk and characteristically blunt. "You're so good. It's inhuman. Don't you ever do anything selfish?"

Steve chuckles. "Hell yeah."

"Example, please?"

"When I was ready to fight you because you intimidated me. How would have that have impacted the team? I wasn't thinking like a soldier, and I'm supposed to be the super soldier."

"That doesn't count! I provoked you!" Tony says, exasperated.

"Doesn't change that it was selfish," Steve says stubbornly.

Tony rolls his eyes. "And the angel may nonsense continues."

"You were right, though," Steve insists. "Everything special about me came from a bottle; I'm just a kid from Brooklyn."

"I love how you turn my insults into further proof of your inhuman goodness."

"Am I ever going to win this argument?"

Tony shrugs. "It's debatable. I am world-class when it comes to arguing. I can do this all day."

That line makes Steve smile. "What?" Tony asks.

"Nothing important. Reminded me of someone."

Tony checks the clock; it's towards one A.M. "Listen, super-soldier, how much sleep do you need?"

Steve thinks, "Well, not very much. Why?"

"Because this joint is going to kick us out eventually, and I don't think I'm ready to head home yet. What about you?"

"Sure. Why not?" A smile spreads over his face. "Tony, have you ever been to Brooklyn?"

"No."

"I'm going to take you there. Some of it's got to be the same, right?"

Tony agrees. "My dad told me some crazy stories about you in Brooklyn that involved you jumping on cabs, dodging bullets and chasing a submarine. How much bullshit was he feeding me?"

Steve grins. "All true."

"No shit?" Tony sounds almost impressed. "Well, well, gramps has skills. I feel better about my child-worship of you now."

They stay another hour hashing over their greatest escapades before Steve drives into Brooklyn ("That's another thing, Tony; people used to know how to drive!") and points out the house he grew up in (or where it used to be, anyway), the river he jumped in, where he was injected. By three, they both have to admit that Fury and Pepper will kill them if they don't hurry back to the tower. Tony's amazing tolerance will make sure he's not hung-over tomorrow, and he'll see Steve tomorrow at seven A.M. when they're both getting their coffee before Tony goes to go tinker and Steve goes to run. The life of an Avenger is both astonishingly normal and incredibly strange.

**I'd love to see you drop a review :) And I want this to be 2000 words, so...**


	2. Chapter 2

**So I decided to continue this. This stuff will probably go chapter to chapter, not threaded together. Captain America has a proper tantrum and Tony tries to help him recover both his restraint and the shoes now lodged in the wall. **

_"_God _damn_ it!_ Could everyone just move their shit, for once?!" _

Tony has never heard Steve Rogers roar that way. It's ominous, especially when accompanied by several rapid-fire thuds. He pokes out of his room and sees a glowering Cap looking at the six pairs of shoes he just threw inside the wall. Twelve ragged holes- make that fourteen, Natasha's stilettos have poked through in four places- now decorate the wall.

"Um, Steve...?" Tony tries. "I know you didn't like that paint but maybe you could have just asked instead of destroying the wall."

Cap looks at him, his embarrassed remorse obvious. "Sorry, Tony," He mumbles. "If I could fix it..."

Tony waves a hand. "Everyone's destroyed something by now, consider it a rite of passage. Thor broke another toaster this morning. I'm more concerned about you, Pops. You okay?"

Steve waves dismissively. "Fine."

"I don't believe that. I've never heard you swear before... you sure you're alright?"

Steve shakes his head and tries to recover. "What? You have heard me swear before."

Tony looks disgusted. "Yeah, hell and damn. Those are in the _Bible,_ they do not count."

"Tell that to my mother; she would have made me go to confession for it. And as much hard labor as she could dredge up. If she really wanted to punish me, she'd make me socialize with my cousins. Loki would like those demons."

Tony shakes his head. "It figures you're Catholic. Stop distracting me! What happened?"

Steve slumps against the wall. "Oh, Lord, those were Phil's dress shoes. He's going to kill me."

"I"ll protect you, big man in a big suit and all that." He sits down next to Steve. "Do you need a drink? I have everything from that weird lime vodka Pepper likes to the death whiskey Thor drinks."

Steve pauses. "Just a beer. I don't think I'm at death whiskey yet."

Tony could get JARVIS on that and be rewarded with the sight of Steve's wonder-filled face, but he gets up and let Steve take a minute. While he grabs the alcohol he texts everyone: _Stay out of hall by my room. Cap needs some space. Only come if you hear me screaming. _

Just in case. Tony can't forget, surrounded by super-strength all the time, that most of them could snap him in half. Of course the probability of Cap snapping is almost impossible. He is annoyingly good, after all.

He sends another message:

_Oh, and how attached were you to your shoes?_

Coulson responds almost immediately: _The Italian ones?! Pretty attached! Do you know how much those cost?_

_Sorry, boss. Explain later._

Well, it's Captain America. He can only get so mad at his idol. If Tony did it, on the other hand, he'd be crucified.

Steve looks calm when Tony comes back with the six pack. Tony pops his beer open and waits.

"She's an agent."

"So a girl?" Tony smirks. "You go, kiddo. When you say agent, are we talking S.H.I.E.L.D. or some assassin type? Cough, Natasha."

"S.H.I.E.L.D." Steve pushes back his hair. "She's Peggy's great-niece. Peggy's great-niece is working at S.H.I.E.L.D. and now I have to see her _every single day._"

Tony pauses.

"She looks like her."  
It's statement, not a question, and Steve nods. "So much it hurts to look at her. God," he says softly. "Tony, I swear to God. Is it ever going to get easier? Is..." he breathes in, and Tony hears the sound of tears being held in his throat. "Every day I think about her and Bucky and everyone who's dead. I should be dead, Tony."

Tony shakes his head. "No way, Gramps. Don't tell anyone I said this, but we need you. Without you we'd have killed each other by now."

"I don't know how old I am," Steve says. "Am I twenty-five? Am I ninety-five?" He lapses into silence.

Tony squeezes his hand awkwardly. Steve looks up and their eyes meet for a second before Tony lets go. But Steve's already begun smiling.

"That's enough of that," Steve says, his voice very different. He sounds like himself again, all warm and authoritative. "Good beer, though," he offers. "Thanks, Tony. You can pretend like you're not a good person, but you are. We can work you up to annoyingly good."

Tony starts to chuckle. Steve glances at the ruined wall. "Should we try to get the shoes out?"

Tony nods. "Let me call Dummy. And remind me to tell JARVIS to schedule the plaster repair."

Steve shakes his head. "I am _so sorry." _

"Nah, no worries. Genius, _billionaire_, playboy, philanthrophist. I can afford a few repairs. But next time, why don't you come straight for the beer and not defile the wall? You went Cujo on that wall."

Steve looks at him.

"Oh, damn, right. Cujo is this dog from a book who goes apeshit- I mean, crazy. It's a good book. Stephen King. It's in our library."

"I might just read that, if only because you just called me Cujo." Steve grins, and Tony smiles back before he remembers the highly delicate materials he left exposed on his desk. He swears and runs back before they're ruined. Steve shakes his head and ambles towards the kitchen. Sharon Carter will be in his thoughts later, and maybe he'll ask Tony if it would be weird to ask her about Peggy or if maybe she'd like dinner. But now he's not worried, and he's just hungry.

Their phones go off a minute later: _Problem solved, kiddos. You're welcome. We recovered your shoes. Don't say anything to Cap._

As if they didn't have _that _much tact.


	3. Chapter 3

On a rare day when Tony doesn't want to tinker, isn't managing Stark Industries or trying to be a good boyfriend to Pepper, and Steve isn't destroying punching bags, reading at the children's hospital or doing Avengers press (at least not since three), Tony commands JARVIS to put on a good movie. "I mean actually good, got it? Tell you what," he says, glancing at Steve. "Go with something classic."

Steve nods. The news has just switched the earlier press conference. There he is, answering questions from reporters he sometimes is astonished by and signing a boy's autograph. He loves children, and no matter what Fury says about parents being weird about their kids now, he will take pictures with any kid who asks, or sign autographs to them, or shake their hands like they're adults. He always wanted lots of kids, and maybe he'll have some yet.

He frowns at the screen. He doesn't like press conferences; they haven't changed since he was a celebrity the first time around except they've gotten more blinding. He almost always gets stuck with it; Natasha and Clint cannot stand being human beings in front of cameras, Thor is too full of enthusiasm, Bruce is paranoid he'll turn, and Tony is so off the wall everyone agrees he shouldn't be put in front of reporters. Coulson just has to look at him hopefully and he goes to grab his jacket and avoids women's hungry eyes. Tony assures him reporters are tigers in the sack. "He's speaking from experience," Pepper said, rolling her eyes. "He's slept with half of them."

"I'd say more like a third," Tony added.

He always asks the receptionist if there's a side way out so he can leave mostly undisturbed. He also avoids _her_ hungry eyes.

"I'd say this is appropiate, sir," JARVIS says, pulling up the theatrical poster for "Singin' in the Rain." Tony looks at at the rain running steadily outside. "Good choice, JARVIS. The Old Man here looks like a musical-lover. JARVIS, send someone up with popcorn and blankets, too." He turns to Steve, who adds to Jarvis, "Thank you, JARVIS."

"A polite one, how refreshing," JARVIS answers. "You're welcome, sir."

"I'll ignore that dig and ask you start the movie," Tony scolds him.

The opening credits start.

"And add a coke and a banana smoothie to that order, actually. Get the coke in a bottle if posible."

Steve murmurs, 'Thanks."

"Is that all, sir?"

"Hmm...yeah, that's good."

They don't talk during the movie at all, except when Tony starts to hum along and Steve raises his eyebrows. "I could sing louder," Tony suggests. Steve smiles. He finds himself smiling a lot these days. "That's okay," he says. "Treat me to it later."

The rain ends almost exactly as the movie does.

"I liked it," Steve tells him.

"I thought so," Tony says, satisfied.

The next day, Tony finds Steve eating his pancakes and between bites humming to the tune of "Singin' in the Rain."

**The first without the actual appearance of alcohol. **


	4. Chapter 4

When Tony told Steve he didn't believe in God, he expected more of a reaction. This was apple-pie-baseball-in-the-streets-nickel-ice-cream-church-on-Sunday Captain America. But Steve only asked him mildly, "Really?" and moved on.

That had surprised him.

Steve had started to put his life back together. It started with his morning run and reading his old favorite books and buying new ones, finding new favorite greasy spoons and park benches. He bought modern clothes and a new sketchbook and learned how to use a blender. And he had started going back to church. He sat in the back and stroked the Bible in his lap and listened for guidance.

He always came back to the tower thoughtful and serene. God, at least, remained unchanged.

Tony isn't surprised when Steve comes into his lab, shrugging into his jacket, and asks if he might want to go to service with him. Tony blinks and, as often happens, says the first thing pops into his mind, "I'm wearing jeans. Do Catholics even allow that?" Steve looks down at his khakis and shrugs. "I think so."

"So I don't have to change?'

Steve smiles hopefully. "Does that mean you're coming?"

"No, that was a hypothetical question." Tony hasn't been to church since his parents' funerals, and that was before he graduated MIT. His dad wasn't much on organized religion, and his mother never forced him to go; Tony preferred being in his room than a church. The church might be bigger, but it was a lot more confining.

Steve shrugged. "Okay. If you're sure."

Tony thinks of his mother's pleading entreaties for him to give God the time of day and sees something in Steve's eyes he remembers from hers.

"Oh, alright," he hears himself say. "Let me find my jacket. Dummy! Find my jacket. The blue one. Hell if I remember where I put it."

JARVIS chimes in from overhead, "In the passenger side of Stark6, sir."

"Don't be so smug, JARVIS. I didn't create you that way. Dummy! Quit looking!I know where it is now! Every day you get closer to being donated for spare parts."

Steve chuckles. "I guess you want to drive?"

* * *

Steve climbs out of the passenger seat and shakes his head. "Do you have so many cars for when you destroy one driving like you do?"

"Psh, you can get away with twenty-five over if you have enough cash on you. I went easy on you."

"Because 45 in a thirty is perfectly safe," Steve mumbles. "Near a school."

"It's Sunday!"

"And a neighborhood playground."

"Okay, shut up or I'm leaving you here, Rogers!"

Steve shakes his head.

Tony lets Steve take the lead as casually as possible. Steve sits in his usual corner back pew and takes out the Bible. Tony sits awkwardly next to him.

"Hello, Steven," a white-haired women greets him. "How are you?"

" Great. How are you doing, Mrs. Winchester?" Steve replies. "Your back feeling better?

"Much, son, thank you." She sits in the pew in front of him.

"How are you, Lizzie?" he inquires to the owner of the hand Mrs. Winchester is holding.

"I'm good, Mr. Rogers," She says shyly. Tony hides his smile. Mr. Rogers. How has he NEVER made this connection?

"I'm very glad to hear it, Lizzie." Steve smiles at her and she blushes a little. "Your grandma showed me the picture you drew of the Little Mermaid. I was very impressed. I think art school might be in your future."

Lizzie twists in happiness. "Really?"

"Yep. I went to art school. I would know." He gazes up. "Did your grandma bring me any good stuff?" Mrs. Winchester smiles dotingly. "A plum cake in the car, dear." She notices Tony and says suddenly, "Oh, I'm sorry to be so rude! I'm Alma Winchester and this is my granddaughter Elizabeth. Are you a friend of Steven's?"

"Yep," Steve grins. "I dragged him out of his lab today. This is Tony Stark." She clearly knows who he is, but other than a slight look of surprise doesn't react.

"Is this where you get all the cake and stuff?" Tony demands.

Mrs. Winchester bows her head.

"I love your cooking, ma'am," Tony says sincerely. "That was probably the best pineapple-upside down cake I've ever eaten in my life last month."

The service starts and it's not that bad. It's Catholic, but it's not all that different from the church he remembers. There's preaching and collection and that blood and body thing with the grape juice and the crackers. There's singing he fumbles along to, following Steve's voice. There's a closing song and prayer and then Steve is standing up to go fetch his dessert.

Tony humors Steve and drives only five over the speed limit home. The children are safe. Tony waits to burst out laughing at the ridiculous hats. Steve laughs too. "Thanks for coming with me, Tony. I know you don't believe in God, but it means a lot you came anyway."

"Don't get all sentimental on me, Rogers," he says sternly before he starts smiling again."So. Lizzie has a little crush, huh?"

**I'm not Catholic, but I have been to a service, so hopefully I'm not way off here.**

**Okay, you know there's a Mrs. Winchester at your church. There's one at every church. **

**Review?**


	5. Chapter 5

Tony shakes his head. "You would be born on the fourth of July."

Steve sips his lemonade. "Makes you wonder, doesn't it?" He says lightly. He grins at the brilliant red and white burst in the dusky sky above. "I always get fireworks, though."

Tony waves his hand. "I can buy those."

"Is there anything you can't buy?" Steve asks.

Tony pauses. "China. Those bastards."

Steve laughs.

Tony leans back on his chair. "So, how's it feel to be extremely old? What is it, 95?"

"94," Steve corrects. "I might be biased, but I think I've held up well. Still feeling 24."

"Thank God, I still have a good fifty years to go," Tony says.

Steve raises an eyebrow. "Your age revealed."

"Oh, be quiet, Gramps. What was it, 1918 you were born?"

"He can do math," Steve cheers.

"Is that sarcasm I detect? I'm such a bad influence on you," Tony says, shaking his head.

"I'm a good influence on you," Steve snorts.

"Well then," Tony pauses dramatically. "I'm afraid I don't associate with good influences. It's bad for my image."

Steve bursts into laughter. It's taken time, but he's learning how to understand Tony.

Tony reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small box topped with a very neatly tied ribbon. "Hey. Happy birthday, gramps."

Steve looks surprised. "You didn't..."

Tony waves impatiently. "We all got you stuff. My present will obviously be the best, though." He beams, and Steve thinks that he looks like a little kid on Christmas morning. "Well, open it!" He demands. Steve takes it gingerly and begins to untie the ribbon. Tony rolls his eyes. "You're one of those people, huh? The kind that peels away the tape from the wrapping paper instead of tearing it?"

"Waste," Steve says simply. "I was a Depression kid." He does just that and removes his wrapping paper fully intact. Inside the little box is a ticket- a plane ticket. A plane ticket to England.

_Oh. _

Steve looks up, words bubbling out of his throat. "Tony, I- this is-"

Tony smiles, pleased. "Your face right now. I wish you could see it."

"How much did you pay for this?"

Tony shake shis head. "No way. I'm a billionaire. It's nothing, it's like .0005 percent of half my money."

"You don't know how grateful I am for this," Steve says hoarsely. "Terrified, yes. But grateful. Thank you."

Tony clasps his shoulder. "Are you ready to see her again?" Steve nods, then shakes his head. "I will be-" he checks the ticket- "by July 15th at 5:00 P.M."

Tony grins smugly. "And Natasha had the nerve to tell me her present was going to be better than mine."

"Well...that depends."

Tony looks up.

"Just kidding!" Steve laughs. "You think they've stopped trying to find 94 candles yet?"

"Probably not."

"Well, I want some cake. You coming?"

Tony stretches luxiously and gets up. "Yeah, alright."

"Do we have ice cream?" Steve asks.

Tony looks a little insulted. "Of course we got ice cream. What kind of lame party do you think I'm throwing here?"

"Awesome," Steve says, using his slang perfectly, and they race off like the little boys they still are, a little bit.


	6. Chapter 6

Steve shuffles his old photographs. Somehow, S.H.I.E.L.D. recovered these and gave them to him. He hasn't seen them in years. There's one of his father, in full military attire he died on his way home from the war, of Spanish influenza. He looks like him, he thinks; his mother always said so. He never met him. He was born not quite two months after his father died. The next is a small portrait of him as a newborn, with downy hair and big eyes.

The next is a portrait of him sitting on his mother's lap, both of them in their best clothes. He's about five. He vaguely remembers sitting for this portrait, his mother's whisper to please sit still, Steven. She rarely called him Steve. That was what the boys and his teachers and nearly everyone he knew then did, but not her; when she was feeling particularly affectionate, she might call him Stevie. With a pang, he wonders how long she saved for this photograph in his hands. They were poor; Steve knew that from his very earliest conception of the word. Not destitute poor- the military paid them enough compensation to prevent that- but no luxaries poor. He never minded. He had a baseball glove and a perfectly good mother- what else could he want? He told her that a thousand times, and she always said back, her voice cracking, "I just want to give you more than I can, Steven." He would hug her, her chin resting on his shoulder. Even as a shrimp, he was substantially taller than her.

There's a newspaper clipping, a tiny column with a picture of him, that his mother must have clipped and saved, announcing that Steven Rogers had won George Washington High School's art scholarship in the spring of 1936. It was a small sum- they were in the midst of a depression- but it was enough. He had gotten into Auburndale, and he could pay for it. He didn't have to see the lines tighten around his mother's eyes as she tried to make his dream possible. She didn't approve, really, of him studying art- where could he work, how would he survive?- but she told him she didn't want him to forget how to hope for something.

The next makes his breath catch. It's his mother's obituary. He wrote it and felt like a failure. He rereads it now and shakes his head. He never could convey her quiet determination, her strength. She raised him alone. He was sick a lot. He was in and out of the hospital when they could afford it and half the time when they couldn't, and she never complained about the extra hours she had to work. They didn't have much money. And somehow she made it so he never cared that he had no father. She was coughing at his high school graduation and dead less than six months later, and he hopes to God that somewhere she is proud of him.

There's not another picture until over five years later, the day he was accepted to enlist. He's so tiny, it seems the photograph's frame is too large. Suddenly he is looking at himself post-serum, smiling, in 1942, in his uniform. Another of him in his suit, another he never saw of him and Peggy and Howard bent over his shield. They all look so earnest, so young. They are ready to fight the Nazis and Fascists. They are ignorant and so very wise. They are still innocent. God, Howard looks like Tony. He shakes his head. This is the past, he reminds himself. Tony Stark is not his father, and he cannot make him into him to make the world easier to process.

The luscious quality of Peggy's hair is captured perfectly in this picture. Her face is turned towards him, saying something, and he's nodding back. It must have been so obvious, how he felt. He can see it in his own face, his eyes, the way he's standing curved towards her.

There's only one left, one of him and his men all together, grinning. Bucky is beside him. Bucky was his best friend from childhood, when he was the sick little boy who had to leave the ball game early. He was liked, certainly, by most kids, picked out on by a quite few others. He lacked close pals, and he was lonely until he loaned Bucky a nickel to buy ice cream one hot day. That was cement to a six-year-old's friendship. Bucky had been the one to talk Steve into their first double-date (went well for Bucky, not as well for Steve), the one to convince him to take the scholarship, the one who got him the job at the newspaper for a few years, which kept him alive and breathing until he could enlist. They snuck into baseball games together. He threatened anyone who ever bullied Steve. They worked through being orphans together.

Steve swallows. He blames himself for Bucky and that train; he knows he always will. He misses him so much sometimes. Everyone is great, really. But Bucky understood things he could never voice. He was a rare guy. He shuffles the photos back in order carefully.

"Hey, man. You okay?"

He turns to see Tony, looking surprisingly casual in a white t-shirt and jeans. "Yeah."

Tony sits next to him. "Is it weird, looking back?"

"Unbelievably weird," Steve admits. He glances at Tony again and decides, oh, what the hell. He pulls out the picture of the three of them and hands it to Tony. "That's me, your dad, and Peggy."

"Ewwww, my dad is _young_," Tony groans. "I've never even thought of him that way. Jesus, I'm going to look like him when I'm old. Do not let me get a haircut like that."

Steve shrugs. "You look really alike anyway."

Tony whistles. "So, that's the mysterious Peggy. You go, Capsicle. She's h- beautiful," he amends.

Steve grins. Somehow, he wanted Tony to say that.

Tony picks up the other pictures. "I see the family resemblance between you and your papa too. He fought in World War 1?"

Steve nods. "Fought and died."

"Is that why you wanted to be a soldier so bad?" Tony asks, his face genuinely interested.

Steve nods. "That was part of it. I grew up hearing about how my dad died for his country like a hero. And it just seemed like the right thing to do. Men with wives and babies and parents were going off and dying. I had nothing like that to lose. It was what I knew I had to do."

He looks at the next. "Your mom and you?"

Steve nods. "You have her eyes," Tony says unexpectedly, and picks up the newspaper clipping. "Art school? You never told any of us that."

"I went for a year. I had to drop out- I had the scholarship, but once my mom died, I went through my savings pretty fast, had to get a job."

"Do you draw much now?" Tony asks. Steve nods.

"You know, you could go back."

"To school?"

"Why not?"

"I..." the truth is, he's never even considered it. "Maybe," he says. Tony read the obit quietly. "This is really beautiful. She must have been special."

"She was," Steve answers, a little awkwardly.

Tony's response to the next is more vocal. "Whoa! You're tiny!" Steve rolls his eyes. "I know."

"It's _weird_!" He flips to the next photo, post-serum, and nods. "That's normal." He picks up the last. "This the Howling Commandos?"

Steve nods. "In all their glory." He leans over and points. "That's my best friend Bucky." Present tense for a past tense person. Was. "And that's..." he finds himself naming them all, telling little stories about them and the fights they fought together. When he finally runs out of words, Tony says in trademark style, "Fabulous history lesson," but he's smiling.

"Thanks for listening, Tony," Steve says.

"Sure, Steve." Tony taps the photos. "Do you want me to make some copies of these?"

"That'd be great," Steve says. He picks up the shot with Howard and Peggy. "Make yourself a copy of this one."

Tony studies the photo for a second before picking the rest up. "Dinner's almost ready," he tells Steve, moving to the door. "It'll be entertaining watching Thor eat his tacos."

Steve grinned and got up. "Wait for me."


End file.
